The Mercer's House (Northern Gothic Book 1) (28 page)

Then Ewan visited, bringing a huge bunch of flowers and some magazines from him and Joe, and did his best to cheer her up. She’d better recover soon, he said, as they wanted her to do another painting for them—a view of the Coach and Horses from the High Street, so they could put it in the lounge. He had a long list of people who wanted to pass on their regards—including the delivery driver who’d seen her running away from Garrett and called the police—but nothing from any of the Devereuxes. Corbin was very ill with an infection, apparently, and was in hospital in Alnwick, and they were spending most of their time with him. Here Ewan lowered his voice and said that he’d heard they’d had a visit from the police, but he didn’t know what it was about, since as far as he knew they hadn’t had any connection to Garrett, and there’d been no reports of a burglary or anything like that.

‘Joe says he saw the police knocking on Alison Maudsley’s door as well, but he refuses to go and ask her what it was all about,’ he said. ‘No natural curiosity, that man. I might have to go and pay a visit and see if she’ll tell me. You see, this is what moving to a small town does to you. In London I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid if one of my neighbours got a call from the police, but up here it’s a different matter altogether. Here, a sheep falls over and we’re still talking about it six months later.’

Zanna smiled wanly. She hadn’t said a word to the police about what she’d found out the other night, but she’d been scanning the news every day to see if Alexander had reported it. Would they arrest Corbin? Zanna didn’t have much idea of the law, but surely they would charge him with perverting the course of justice at the very least. Might they even pin a murder charge on him?

‘The nurse said you’re going home tomorrow,’ said Ewan. ‘You will come back, though, won’t you?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe,’ said Zanna.

‘Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you’d been put off, but we’d love to see you again. We’ll put you up for free if we’ve got rooms.’

‘Thanks, that’s really kind of you,’ she said, and managed another smile. He went away shortly after that, and she was left alone with her thoughts, which were bleak ones. If Corbin hadn’t killed Helen and Rowan, as he claimed, then he’d certainly disposed of their bodies. He’d said something about Helen having left instructions in her diary, and if that was the case then Zanna hoped he was telling the truth when he said he’d kept it, or there’d be no proof that he hadn’t killed them. Would the police press charges after all this time against a frail, elderly man if they couldn’t find the bodies, or if there wasn’t any evidence to prove it was murder? She had no idea.

Anyway, it seemed as if Garrett had been right—or almost. Helen and Rowan had never left Elsbury, but had died there. Zanna supposed it had been obvious right from the start. After all, if Corbin really had hired a firm of private investigators to look for Helen, then their first port of call would have been Helen’s family, who would have been easy enough to trace. And yet Zanna’s father had never mentioned receiving any communication of the sort. He hadn’t heard anything at all from Helen since the day she disappeared, he said, and had no idea where she’d got to. But Corbin had been lying all along, of course. Zanna wondered at how easy it was seemingly to pull the wool over Alexander’s eyes. Was it really, though? He was an intelligent man; perhaps he had suspected the truth too, but had not wanted to face it, and so had ignored his suspicions for twenty-five years.

And Will—what had he known? The revelation the other night obviously hadn’t come as a surprise to him. He must have been there in the Mercer’s House at the time, as his father had said—and despite his own denial. What had he seen as a seven-year-old boy? Whatever it was, he hadn’t wanted it to come out. She wondered what he was doing now. Had the police questioned him about what had happened all those years ago? He wouldn’t be in trouble, as he’d been far too young at the time, but if he did know something it would be hard on him to have to point the finger at his uncle. He’d come to visit her briefly in hospital when she’d first been admitted—or at least, she assumed it was him, from the nurse’s description, as she’d been asleep. He hadn’t wanted to wait, the nurse said—he said he’d just come to see Zanna was OK, and there was no need to wake her up. He hadn’t been back since, though, so presumably he hadn’t forgiven her for having brought it all out into the open. She could hardly blame him, after what she’d done to him and his family, digging up long-buried secrets that they’d wanted to forget. She supposed the two of them had never had any chance of making a go of it, given the baggage they both carried, but she hated the fact that it had ended like this. Part of her wanted to call him, but the memory of the fury she had seen on his face that night stopped her. She knew it was cowardly of her, but she couldn’t bear to hear from him that he no longer wanted her. His silence for the past two days was enough to tell her that, and she was feeling too fragile to let him dump her in person.

The next day Ellie and Adam came to take her back to London, to stay with them. She’d been getting calls from reporters—including one from Garrett’s paper who was particularly persistent and hostile—while one or two had even come to the flat in London. Zanna couldn’t face any of it, and so she accepted the invitation thankfully. They’d been horrified at what Garrett had done, and Zanna suspected they felt some guilt too, since none of it would ever have happened if Adam and Zanna had still been together. But there was a baby on the way, and Zanna wanted to show them she didn’t blame them for anything, so as soon as she was feeling up to it she volunteered to paint a mural in the nursery.

She was still scanning the news every day to find out what, if anything, was happening in Elsbury. She hoped desperately that Alexander had reported it, as she didn’t know what she’d do if he didn’t. Could she keep the secret to herself? She’d heard Corbin’s confession, and once known, it could never be unknown. Helen and Rowan were buried somewhere out there in the forest, and she knew it. And she didn’t
want
it to stay a secret, she realized. Her aunt and her cousin must be found and buried properly, whatever had happened to them. But again she felt her own cowardice, and didn’t want to be the one to report it, at the expense of further anger from Will—wherever he was now.

At last, a week after her return to London, she saw it: a brief paragraph on a news website which said police were searching an area of Kielder Forest, following reports received about the disappearance of a woman and her young son in 1989. So it had happened, then. Someone had taken the story to the police, and it was out of her hands forever. A few days after that came another news report that two bodies had been found, buried in shallow graves in the forest, and were thought to be those of Helen Devereux and Rowan Chambers. A man had been arrested and released on police bail, the story said. For days afterwards she kept her eye out carefully, but nothing more was reported, and it seemed there was no more news. Presumably the police were looking into it all, and if Corbin was charged she’d hear about it sooner or later.

In the meantime she had her own life to get on with. The police were satisfied that she wasn’t in any way at fault for Garrett’s death—although she was finding it difficult to forgive herself—and interest in her ordeal had died down, so she went back home and began to look for work again. October gave way to November and Zanna was engaged with a series of temporary jobs that kept her mind off things during the day, but she dreaded the nights, when she’d lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling. When she did finally fall asleep, her dreams were haunted by Garrett, and the cold sea, and Helen, and by a laughing little boy with fair hair.

Z
ANNA HAD enough work to keep her busy throughout November and into early December, after which she found herself with a few days free between engagements. Her last job had had long hours, for which she’d been thankful, as she needed the money—and besides, she wanted to occupy her time. But now the tiredness was catching up with her, and she planned to spend the next three days sleeping and doing some Christmas shopping. She slept much later than she’d intended on the first day, and was just getting ready to leave the house after lunch, when the doorbell rang. She was waiting for a delivery of artist’s materials, and she opened the door, expecting to be handed a heavy parcel, only to see Will Devereux standing there. She was so surprised to see him she could barely take it in, and was lost for words.

‘Will,’ she said eventually. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Can I come in?’ he said.

So like him not even to say hello. She stood back to let him in. He glanced round uncertainly, and didn’t go any further than the hall, as if he’d just come to borrow a cup of sugar and was going to leave again immediately. He looked exactly the same as always, and Zanna’s heart thumped at a sudden flash of memory of their one night together before it had all gone horribly wrong. But that was too painful to think about. She turned and went into the kitchen.

‘Do you want a drink?’ she said, and switched the kettle on without waiting for a reply.

‘Er—yes, please,’ he said, and followed her in. He seemed to have no intention of making conversation, but they couldn’t just stand there all day, and someone had to bring the subject up, so she said:

‘I heard about Corbin. Ewan told me. I’m really sorry.’

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘The funeral was last Friday.’

‘How’s your dad taken it?’

‘Difficult to tell. He’s got a new project on, so he’s buried himself in his work as usual. He was never much of a one for showing his feelings.’

‘I would have sent a card, but I didn’t know whether he’d appreciate it after—’ She stopped, not wanting to mention the unmentionable. ‘Anyway, please pass on my sympathies.’

‘I will.’ He paused. ‘How have you been?’

‘OK, thanks.’

‘Are you working?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve been quite busy, actually. Just temping, but it pays the rent.’

‘And you’ve been painting too,’ he said, looking at her hand as she gave him his coffee.

‘A bit,’ she said. ‘I’m trying, anyway. There’s a college near here that wants me to do some daytime classes after Christmas. It’s just until half term, but they might keep me on if they get enough people signing up after February.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Yes.’

There was an awkward silence, and to fill it she turned to bustle about, putting teaspoons and coffee jars away. Then:

‘I’m sorry, Zanna,’ he said.

She turned back to face him.

‘I was awful to you. It wasn’t your fault. I was upset, but that doesn’t excuse it. I should never have let you leave the house. I can’t even tell you how terrible I feel about what happened.’

‘You couldn’t have helped it,’ she said. For the past few weeks she’d been trying to suppress her memories of that night, but now they all came flooding back at once, and she felt the tears starting and put her fingers to her eyes.

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘No, it’s all right,’ she said, taking a deep breath and forcing them back. ‘I’m all right, really. I’m getting on with things. Best to forget it. I can’t change anything now.’

‘I should have been there for you after it happened, but I haven’t even been in touch. You must hate me.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘You were angry, and you had Corbin to think of. It’s understandable.’

‘That’s no excuse. I set myself up as being better than Garrett, but I behaved just as badly. I’ll never forgive myself for that. I had no right to be angry. None of it was your fault, but I just couldn’t deal with you and Corbin at once, and they said at the hospital that you were going to make a full recovery, and that you had friends coming to collect you, so I told myself you’d be OK and went home to try and sort my head out. And then we had the police around asking questions, and Corbin wasn’t getting any better, and suddenly a couple of weeks had passed and I still hadn’t called you. I thought about doing it but I didn’t know what to say, or whether you’d tell me where to get off, so I didn’t. And the longer it went on the more difficult it was. Cowardly, I know, but I was feeling pretty messed up, and unfortunately you got the brunt of it. I’m sorry, and I won’t blame you if you can’t forgive me.’

She shook her head, but the words wouldn’t come. At least he wasn’t angry with her any more, but there was no denying the damage she’d done, even if she wasn’t to blame for the original events. She’d torn open a wound that had long since healed over, and had driven a wedge between Alexander and Corbin. Now Corbin was dead, and who knew how far she had contributed to that? Her common sense told her he’d been a sick man and might have gone at any time, but the stress of the whole thing coming out couldn’t have helped. That was another thing for her to feel guilty about. And what now? There seemed to be a double barrier between her and Will, in the form of Helen and Garrett, keeping them apart. How could they support one another when they each had their own misery to contend with? The burden of it was too much.

There was a pause, then he looked down at his coffee and put it on the kitchen table, untasted.